Since You Asked: A surprising 24 hours in South Dakota

THE MOST INTERESTING day of our drive home from Maine to California was the 24 hours we spent in South Dakota.

South Dakota?

In nine days we crossed nine states and a big chunk of Canada, but to our great surprise South Dakota was the star.

We crossed into South Dakota from Minnesota and immediately faced what seemed like an endless flatland, field after field of wheat and cattle silage, with only the rarest of farmhouses, hidden by trees.

How could anyone willingly live in such emptiness?

We spent the night in the capital city, Pierre, before setting off again into the void.

On the edge of the Badlands, we stopped to talk with the first human we had seen that day, Grady Crew, who — all alone — was mowing wheat with his enormous tractor. Grady owns 16,000 acres, farming 8,000 on his own, leasing the rest. He laughed when I asked what he did for socialization. "I know just about everyone for 150 miles around; we get together a lot." He was obviously prospering, a happy man working on land that had been in his family for four generations.

From where I sat, it seemed like a lonesome existence.

Grady's property bordered the Badlands, a surreal stretch of land that had once been a sea. The now-exposed sea bottom had risen in contorted shapes of brown cliffs and towers; it was unearthly, even weirder than the famed Cappodocia we had visited in Turkey. An occasional tourist had stopped to climb the peaks; Rowland shot dozens of pictures; I just wanted to get out of there.

From the Badlands, we drove to Wall, S.D., apparently famous as the home of Wall Drug Store, a block-long 760,00-square-foot institution, the only place of note in a truly tiny town. The drugstore first became famous in the 1930s when its owners lured thirsty customers, fresh from the prairie, with promises of free ice water.

Nobody was looking for ice water when we got there, but literally hundreds of people in cowboy hats and touristy T-shirts were lined up for ice cream and sundry souvenirs, from Indian blankets to coffee cups.

We had an ice cream lunch before setting out for Mount Rushmore, about 40 miles distant on a twisty mountain road. The sight of the famous presidential faces carved into the rocky hillside was as breathtaking as I'd expected, even when the site was crawling with tourists.

Next we drove eight winding miles to see the controversial statue of Crazy Horse, advertised as (potentially) the largest rock sculpture in the world. But in the 65 years since its inception, only the face of Crazy Horse is complete. A waitress in Pierre had called the $10 admission fee a "rip-off," and I was inclined to agree. Rowland, though, said he was pleased to contribute to the project, which may or may not ever be finished. The statue was commissioned by an Indian chief in 1948 to honor Crazy Horse who waged a lifelong fight on behalf of his Lakota tribe, pushed aside by an acquisitive federal government.

Every day was different, and although some seemed dishearteningly long, Rowland persuaded me to look on each day as a separate adventure, undimmed by how many thousand more miles we had to go.

We had driven the southern route to Maine in mid-June, 4,593 miles in 11 days. That had been fun, with the lobster village of Five Islands our destination. Now — we took a deep breath — we had to drive back to Greenbrae, which proved to be 3,773 more miles behind the wheel.

Much of our route was on two-lane roads hemmed with pine trees; Michigan and Wisconsin and Minnesota were scenic beyond description, beautified by a slew of roadside lakes: we stopped often to take pictures of Lake Superior, as vast and powerful as an ocean. At Sault St. Marie, we crossed the Soo Canals between Lakes Huron and Superior, and glimpsed the enormous lock that allows passage between them. The roads in the upper Midwest, like most of the roads coast to coast, were in excellent repair, but in Michigan I was struck again by the lonely stretches between towns of any kind. How do families survive, so far from the companionship and bright lights we enjoy?

Rowland began philosophizing about our vast and wonderful country, and to credit all those elements that made it great — the power stations, the remote factories, the mines, the logging operations, the farms, the roadside malls. We are all linked together, he said. We are all one nation.

He especially liked the frequent sight of American flags, big ones in most towns, smaller ones in private yards.

Seven days into our trip home, we began to feel tired. On the ninth day, 9,101 miles from where we had started, we pulled into our driveway in Greenbrae.

It had all been an excellent adventure. We had set a goal — to drive coast-to-coast twice across our wonderful country. We had done it, happily and safely — but we don't need to do it again.